A/N: This chapter took a fair bit of time and I apologise. But this new and entirely rewritten chapter has a lot- LOT of new material, which I seriously hope you'll enjoy.
I can't thank CallieSkye enough for going through this monster and making it even better.
Again a reminder that, two days from now, I shall delete all the unedited chapters from this site. (Chapter 8 – 51).
Edited
Chapter 7: The Lost Years
Ron wasn't sure how much time had elapsed since he'd arrived at the flat- it could have been an hour, or could have been days. The pain had not dulled in the least, but he had run out of tears to shed. The ring had left a mark on his palm; the skin throbbed and burnt but it wasn't as bad as the ache in his heart.
He exhaled and looked at the shiny metal object once more before placing it back in the case and setting it up on the centre table. The sun streaming through the curtains caused it to glitter brilliantly, and he turned away, gulping down the ache in his chest and rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.
"It's over," he reminded himself and pushed his exhausted self off the floor almost mechanically. He needed a drink, something strong enough to numb his senses.
Ron was barely in the kitchen, pulling out an old bottle of Firewhiskey, when a loud crack sounded in the living room. He curbed the urge to pull out his wand; so far, only Harry and George could come through the wards. Moreover, at this point, it made no difference to him even if it was some vengeful Death Eater. His life was a mess, what was the worst that could happen anyway?
He heard the furious footsteps getting closer while he unscrewed the bottle.
"YOU BLOODY ARSE, RON WEASLEY! YOU BETTER BE HERE SO THAT I CAN BLAST YOUR BOLLOCKS OFF!"
Harry.
"What's wrong, mate?" he called casually, walking up to the corridor to meet his friend midway, the bottle still held in his hands. In reply, a mighty punch landed square on his face, causing some of the liquid from the bottle to splash out onto the floor.
"Fuck!" he muttered to himself and shook his head before wiping the blood off his nose with the back of his hand.
Harry drew his wand, and Ron mirrored the action on reflex, causing his best mate to shoot him a dirty glare. A swish and a glowing stag erupted out of Harry's wand.
"Found him," said the bloke in an exhausted whisper and Ron swore softly to himself again. "At his flat. Dozed off by the look of it. Will bring him home in a while. Don't worry."
The stag bowed infinitesimally and pranced around the room once before taking a leap and vanishing out of sight.
Ron didn't even flinch when the wand was pointed at his face this time.
"I would've left you with that broken nose if I wasn't so concerned about Molly," gruffed the man angrily before waving it in another practiced motion. "She can do without seeing you bleeding," he added ruefully.
"Episkey."
The nose reset itself and Ron gave a nod and a weak attempt at a smile before looking down at the bottle in his hand and taking a large gulp, cherishing the way the liquid inflamed its path downwards. Harry was still watching him, his brow furrowed in annoyance and Ron opened his mouth to attempt a joke, but closed it and walked off to slump down on the chair instead. He took yet another mouthful of the amber liquid and set the bottle roughly on the table.
Harry stormed in and pulling the opposite chair roughly, sat himself down, leaned back and glared while keeping his arms crossed at his chest- typical Auror interrogation mode.
"Speak," he instructed and Ron managed a dry chuckle. He spoke only after taking another swig, a large one this time.
"'bout what?" he asked and noticed his mate's jaws stiffen. He was pushing Harry to the limit but he had no fucks left to give.
"It's a bloody joke for you, isn't it, you git?" spat Harry and Ron continued to stare at the bottle. He was exhausted.
"Harry, listen-"
"No, YOU LISTEN, RON!" Harry bellowed, banging the table with his fist and then drawing deep breaths to steady himself. When he spoke again, his voice was soft but bitter and laced heavily with checked emotions.
"Do you have the faintest idea the scare you gave everyone? Do you even know what a mess your Mum is right now?"
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he muttered to himself and met his best mate's eyes, "I'm... I'm sorry... I just... Should've left her a note or somethin'."
He felt worse than he was feeling already, and that was saying something. The least he could do was spare his ageing Mum a panic attack- again.
"I came here to sort out the place. Gotta move out after the wedding, don't I?" he provided though it sounded pretty lame, even to his ears. Sure enough, Harry scoffed.
"Sort this place out?! So fucking early in the morning?! Who do ya think you are? Hermione Granger?"
Her name brought a fresh onslaught of pain, and Ron averted his eyes to take another swig, ignoring the question. He could feel Harry's eyes bore into him.
"I asked you something, didn't I? Answer me, you git! Or would you prefer to have Veritaserum poured down your throat? 'Cause Merlin knows, I'm tired of your games, Ron!"
Ron sighed aloud.
"Not playing any games, mate... Just... Nothing really... How are the wedding preps working out?"
He was dying to tell Harry. It was all too much to handle alone. But he couldn't. The bloke was getting married, for fuck sake. It was supposed to be a happy time for him.
Harry gave him one long, hard look before snatching the bottle and taking a swig himself.
"You don't have any fucking clue how it was for us, do ya?" he asked softly but it wasn't hard to hear the hurt and anger behind those words. Ron kept his eyes glued to the table and Harry continued without waiting for an answer.
"Life was picking up, Ron. I know it was hard, rebuilding from the ruins, the insane amount of funerals and picking up broken pieces wherever we went. But it was better, wasn't it? At least there was some future to look forward to. At least, we were all safe. That's what we fought for, didn't we, Ron? To stop losing the people we loved?"
"Yeah," he managed in a whisper and Harry let out a bitter chuckle.
"..what happened? We lost you- without an explanation, and at a time when finally we all were supposed to be 'safe'. We had no fucking clue where or how you could disappear from a training camp, Ron! And there were the speculations- that you were kidnapped by some remaining Death Eaters." Harry exhaled soundly, looking like a man way beyond his years.
"I spent weeks looking for you," he said after a while. Ron wasn't surprised but his chest hurt worse now as he imagined his best mate sitting alone in their Auror office, trying to work out his disappearance.
"I was sure someone had taken you. You wouldn't leave unannounced, you'd always come back. But you didn't." Harry took another large gulp. "There was something in the papers a few weeks later. It said that you were captured, presumed dead and that the Ministry was hushing things up-"
"-because I was the Chosen One's best mate, one of the members of the Golden Trio." Ron finished for him. "Yeah, Skeeter wrote that one, the fool," he provided and met Harry's eyes.
"How do'ya know?"
Ron bit his tongue and looked away, conflicted.
"Ron, don't test my patience," whispered Harry in a deadly voice. "I swear, I could've killed you for leaving. Especially after Kingsley finally relented and told us that you were safe and away on some god damn fucking mission! You didn't tell me, you didn't tell Hermione- after I confided in you about Every. Little. Thing. while hunting the Horcruxes! You didn't trust me!"
"I did, mate! I still do! I trust you more than myself, with my life. You know that! But- I couldn't tell you 'bout this." Ron was worried how Harry would take the next confession but he continued anyway.
"That article by Skeeter? It was planted. By Kingsley. We knew she wouldn't be able to resist that bit of gossip and it would somehow sate the curiosity about my sudden disappearance. Bet she made it juicy and nasty, didn't she?"
Harry snorted. "Yeah. Almost pulled out all your old Potion assignments where you'd failed. Exaggerated your weaknesses and downplayed your strengths."
"In short, she made me sound like a bumbling buffoon who stuck around with the two of you only to save his own arse. Someone who got blown to bits the first time he went off on his own?" he laughed.
"Pretty much, yeah." agreed Harry.
"And it worked?"
"Sort of, I guess," he mused. "Made some people question her version but most of them kind of accepted your disappearance as an unfortunate loss and nothing more."
"But you guys didn't believe her, did you?" Ron asked quietly. "That was the plan Harry- we needed to avoid drawing attention to my- to me," he added earnestly. "I knew Skeeter was the best option, 'cause you guys'd never believe a word she wrote."
"You know, at times, I feel like it was a bad joke, the way you treated us, Ron. George kept waiting for you when he married Angie. He'd lost Fred already and he'd lost you too. Your Mum never stopped hoping you'd turn up one day and always ensured she had your meal ready. It was like we were always waiting- waiting for Kingsley to tell us you were safe, dreading some horrible news when he had no information for days. Your Dad had to remove your spoon from the Weasley clock as it was driving the family mental. It would move from lost to mortal peril to dead and back to lost. 'was fucking insane."
Ron ran his fingers through his hair tiredly. He couldn't take any more of this guilt.
"Wasn't easy for me, Harry, believe me, it wasn't," he managed, gathering the courage to look up into green eyes which held more pain than Ron had ever seen in all their years of friendship. He didn't want to hear any more of what Harry had to say. Reliving his own days of hell was far easier than hearing about the hurt he had caused.
"I… The…" he fumbled, wondering where to start. For six long years, there was hardly any open conversation. He was so out of practice that it was a struggle to put his thoughts into words.
"Dunno know where to begin. Tell me what you wanna know and I promise I'll answer honestly," he said.
"Everything."
He glanced up to meet his best mate's eyes, pleading silently. Everything? He was still trying to forget, trying to convince himself that some of the memories were nightmares and nothing more.
"Where were you? What was this mission?" inquired Harry and Ron took in a deep breath forcing himself to actually describe in words, the purgatory that was his life for the past seven years.
"And what happened between you and Hermione?"
Fuck.
"Doesn't look like a lovers' tiff from how I see it," added his best mate. It meant Ron was doing a rotten job of pretending that all was well.
"Hermione-" he began and paused. Even saying her name felt like daggers to his broken heart. "We broke up…" he whispered, "I mean, I broke up with her... before I left."
"WHAT?"
If Ron wasn't so miserable he probably would have laughed. Harry looked flabbergasted. "So, she knew you were leaving?" he asked slowly and Ron shook his head sideways.
"No, would've defeated the purpose."
"So you didn't tell her you were leaving but broke up?"
"I had to," he replied. "I joined as an undercover agent, mate. I had to leave!" he sighed and looked away before facing his friend again. "What was the point of having a relationship? I had thought over my decision, in case you're wondering, and it seemed pretty darn right. I knew it'd affect my life. At least, I thought I knew how much it'd affect everything. Turns out I was wrong, wasn't I?" he pondered aloud.
Harry didn't comment or question any further and Ron sighed deeply as he began again, the years materialising in front of him like a muggle movie. But it was no movie; it was life- his past.
When did it all begin? Oh yes, sometime in August that year when Harry and he were still under trainee Aurors- the day Kingsley had come down for dinner at the Burrow. His Mum arranged those frequently those days, maybe to keep the house full and noisy or perhaps to keep her grief drowned as she prepared enormous batches of food and fed people. He didn't know if it helped but he attended as and when he could.
That particular night, Kingsley had been able to spare some time from his Ministerial duties. Hermione was visiting her parents and Harry hadn't been around as he was filling in for someone at work. Ron often wondered if it would've made a difference had his best mate made it to dinner that night. Kingsley had told him that Harry would never be a good candidate for the mission, being so well known and all, but Ron wondered if Harry would have allowed Ron to leave if he knew.
And Hermione? She would've known too. He pushed the memory of her laughter and their happier days together to a far corner of his heart as he continued with his story.
It was that evening when Ron learned of the silent uprising brewing in Belgium. Well, they didn't quite know what it was at the time, did they? No. All they knew at the time, courtesy of one of Kingsley's old sources, was that some escaped Death Eaters had fled to Belgium. It should have been a simple matter of diplomatic reconciliation with the Belgian Ministry of Magic- send some Aurors, track and capture the fleeing bastards, get them a trial and chuck their sorry arses in Azkaban. But it wasn't that easy.
The catch was elsewhere.
There was someone else- someone who had been a close aid of Voldemort's, one who was rallying forces again. The problem was that no one knew who this person was. Also involved were rallying Muggle forces, escaped convicts, thugs and all kinds of lowlifes that thrived on chaos and violence. It made no sense and made the mission infinitely more complicated.
Capture and alert them or lead them into a false sense of security to allow the Aurors to the catch the big fish?
The high seat of Belgium decided on the second option- but losing their lead altogether was too much of a risk to take. What they needed was a spy- someone who would infiltrate the ranks and find out what they were planning, and when the time came, unmask this new leader.
While the Ministry in England was fine combing its employees, screening one and all for links to the Dark regime, the Belgian Ministry was an easy bet. Assuming that their ranks could have been compromised already, they decided they needed someone from foreign soil.
In the end, the offer was simple. Would Ron sacrifice all that he had worked hard to build and leave to chase a faceless man? Heck, he knew he would. It wasn't really a choice. They didn't need another uprising. Any Death Eater fraternity, if given enough time to grow roots, would target Harry first, and then him, Hermione and their families.
Kingsley gave him two days to decide- two nights to ponder if he was really serious. It would be a highly confidential mission and he could confide in no one- not even his best mates.
He didn't tell Harry how difficult those two days had been for him.
Every time Hermione ran into his arms his resolve seemed to break. How could he leave her behind? He had sat watching his family- Fred's place left vacant out of respect stood out like an open wound. By the end of the second night, he had made up his mind. They couldn't lose anyone else- he couldn't bear to lose anyone else. It had to be him. Harry had done it once already- sacrificed himself for everyone he cared. He'd be darned if he allowed his best mate to go through that again. That bloke needed, no deserved, a life.
But Hermione was a different story.
She was the one who made it so hard, made him want to be selfish. He had fought a war in the hope that they would have a future together. That night, he lay awake in the small flat Hermione owned, while she slept peacefully, wrapped in the warmth of his embrace. And ironically, that's what eventually solidified his resolve.. He'd suffer a thousand sleepless nights to give her a secure future, even if it was one without him. He had to let her go, and the hard way too...
He realised he had stopped talking, so he left his place to fetch a few more bottles. Once he had placed them roughly on the table, he sat himself down, gulped a fair amount from his bottle before he proceeded with the narration.
Voldemort had amassed an enormous number of followers during his reign; though no one knew exactly how many. Many claimed to be under the Imperius Curse. Even the dark mark had begun to fade in the months that followed the battle. Once he had infiltrated their ranks, it could take him weeks or even months to figure out if he was in the right place at all. And there was always a chance of blowing his cover. That would mean certain death. His older and wiser self now knew that at the very best, it could be an Avada to his heart- quick and easy. At the very worst- well, there are hundreds of less pleasant ways to die, ways his younger self could not have fathomed even in his wildest nightmares.
Chasing the bitter taste of gruesome memories with more whiskey, he began speaking again.
He began his special training within a week after the confirmation and some discrete paperwork. His earnings were to be deposited in a special vault, and in the case of his unfortunate death, it would be transferred to a nominee of his choosing. He remembered having declared three people, his parents of course and Hermione. He handed the Deluminator to Kingsley for safe keeping in his vault. If something went wrong, it was to be handed over to Hermione. Pig was to be passed on to Harry. It had felt strange, signing a will when he had nothing to call his own. But he did hope that he'd return someday, and it would not come to an emotionless ministry official reading out his last will and testament to his grieving family. They would know he had planned it all out, but he would no longer be in a position to explain himself- or apologise.
He met Harry's eyes and looked away quickly, there was too much anger and pain in those familiar features. He focused instead on his story.
Who knew that a Section of Unspeakables worked as and for the Aurors, training them in specific stealth programs? No one was allowed to know. To everyone else, even Harry- Ron's specialisation was combat and strategy.
But he needed more. Eventually, it had been decided that the best cover that he could have would be that of a Muggle outlaw. But that wasn't so easy to implement. Ron's knowledge about Muggle life was woefully limited. And he was already straining his bones trying to maintain his dual life.
It was a rainy afternoon when Kingsley told him that he'd have to leave, disappear more like it. It would give him the scope to train under a retired Muggle military general, one who specialised in covert operations. And it would be easier to hide his tracks if he disappeared long before he made an appearance in Belgium.
He broke up with Hermione that night.
Trying his best not to think about her and just drown himself in more liquor, Ron went on with the story. The bottle in his hand emptied and was refilled by his best mate who, thankfully, seemed to understand the need.
Two weeks later, he 'disappeared' from the training camp. Rita Skeeter's article came out a few days after.
In retrospect, the first eight months of his mission, which he spent learning the muggle ways of life were the easiest, though confusing and and at times tiring. The General took his training very seriously and ensured Ron did too. He was made to live the life of a soldier; patch himself without spells and survive hardships that would have made their year on the run way more tolerable. Many times he wondered how surprised Hermione would be when he finally returned and told her that he could use a toaster now, even a microwave... and guns. No longer would he need his wand in case of physical combat... He also planned to surprise her with his knowledge of French and German which drove him insane initially but were so helpful later on.
He chuckled bitterly and silently to himself as he drank more. Fuck, there wasn't enough Firewhiskey in his system to make him pass out or numb his senses.
He continued with his story although already tired of talking.
Nearing a year since he had left home, the recruitment drive of the Death Eaters was slogging on and slowly gaining momentum. One day the Head of the Belgian Auror Department came down with Kingsley. They had been tracking a small muggle group. When the men were found interacting with a runaway wizard, it was deemed prudent to introduce Ron to this group, but they knew he'd need a solid back story first.
Luck favoured, he thought sarcastically. A group of four muggle outlaws, almost his age, had been reported on the run after killing a small time arms trader in downtown London. The group which had managed to evade muggle police, had taken a boat across the channel, only to drown when the vessel capsized. Apparently, they were ferrying more people than their capacity and a sudden unexpected storm spelt doom for all who were travelling. No trace was found, neither of the boat nor any of the travellers.
Three days post the incident (which was luckily reported in the muggle newspapers as well), a haggard Ron was 'caught' trying to steal food from them at a non-descriptive roadside food stall. When they threatened to beat the shit out of him, he told them his sob story- in English- how he was the only survivor of the lot that drowned, how he was in a different country and only trying to get some food. A little more prodding on their part, and he iterated how he was on the run from the cops and would gladly help in any way if they didn't hand him over to the authorities.
Needless to say, they decided that they could use this hapless boy who barely looked out of his teens. And that was that. They were sceptical of him first, talking amongst themselves in German which he pretended not to understand. But he gave them no reason to doubt him, kept a low profile and did their odd bidding as they travelled. One night he told them his 'story' and about the unplanned murder of the cop. After his confession, he was accepted as one of their own.
Ron thought back to the days they spent walking, with no clue where they were actually headed. As the days morphed into weeks, it was hard to even remember why he was there, what he was doing. In the darkness of the night, he'd run his hand over the charmed pocket in his trousers that was extended to hold and hide his wand, if only to remind himself who he truly was. His life had become a perpetual buzz of noise- constantly on the lookout for a chance to use the special invisible mark set on his palm, to press it with his wand and convey his location to Kingsley. But those times were few and far in between as he needed to be continuously on his guard to avoid suspicion. They travelled mostly during the night, sleeping in the woods during the day, keeping away from major towns and villages.
The group still didn't trust him completely, although their defences around him had begun to lower as days passed. They spoke amongst themselves in German while discussing their plans, unaware that Ron could understand... They frequently spoke of a man called Higgins and Ron began to realise that he was one of the dark wizards the Aurors had been tracking all along.
Higgins was sceptical about him initially. But the rest of the group vouched for him. He was just a meek boy who had been with them for months now. An outlaw just like them. How dangerous could he be?
Ron had to admit that he had been worried about being caught. After all, a wizard always left behind some magical traces. He was forced to cease all contact with Kingsley for days at a time. During one such period of silence, the group seemed to finally reach their destination - the Ardennes Forests.
The forest, he realised, was their hideout. He had to admit that it was a damn good choice. The region was covered in extensive forests, rough terrain, rolling hills and ridges. Why would anyone bother to search such a huge expanse of land, and honestly, how would they search the area- without magic?
That was where Ron lived for the next five and a half years, and what left him with a lifetime supply of nightmares. It took him months to adjust, if one could even call it that. After all, it was a life a decent bloke could never be prepared for even with all his training.
The camps were set up deep in the heart of the forest where the foliage was thick and the canopy of trees so high that sun rays barely touched the ground. He had later realised that there were charms in place to keep intruders out- the same ones Hermione had used during the hunt.
The hunt seemed like a lifetime away.
Small shacks were built with woods and twigs and the rain would often leave them soaking to their bones. There were around a hundred or so people when he arrived, and as the months trickled by, their numbers increased. A larger portion of the ground was cleared to make room for their living spaces and yet, Ron could not fathom the need to recruit so many muggles. However, he had to admit these weren't just any muggles. They were outlaws, criminals, murderers, rapists and goons- men running from the law and looking for a place to hide. They had been lured in with the promise of money in return for 'special services'. Something else that Ron noticed common to most was their general fascination for gore and violence. It wasn't hard to understand why a Death Eater would recruit these men; they were just the same- only sans magical abilities.
For almost a month, perhaps more, as he had no real clue of time, he tried to concentrate on staying alive. It was a tricky balance. Keep too much of a low profile and he'd run a risk of being mauled those trying to prove their dominance, show too much valour and risk being murdered for being competition. There were nights when all he wanted was to go home. He had spent more than a year away from everyone he cared for and yet, he still had no clue really why. The days were miserable, the nights sometimes worse than nightmares. He clung on to life not because he had no choice- heck, he could simply Apparate away if he wanted to, but he had left a lot behind for this mission. He had broken Hermione's heart to keep her safe, keep his best mate safe, keep all of them safe, he knew he had to survive this ordeal- finish this- for her.
Most importantly, he knew he could not allow himself to die without seeing her one last time if it came to that.
He paused his narration and remained silent, drinking from his bottle for a long time before Harry prodded softly and he resumed.
Finally, when gangs began to form and fights began to break out between rivals, the wizards running the show decided it was time to get the muggles under control and take the plan to the next stage. Two of the men, who had proved themselves to be the gang leaders, amassed followers and were secretly trying to take over, were found dead. It still made him want to puke remembering the scene. It was a clear reminder that they were in that forest, kept safe and fed not for fun and games. They were mere followers, revolts wouldn't be tolerated.
Higgins and another large bloke called Oxley, who Ron was sure, was also a wizard, brought in Peter and Davis. The duo came with a consignment of arms and it was clear to Ron that these new arrivals were brought in to train the lot. What purpose a bunch of armed and trained muggles would fulfil, was still a mystery to him.
He began concentrating on the training. It gave him something to focus on and kept him sane while he tried to discover who was pulling the strings. The arms were confiscated and kept locked away every day after training. Ron often wondered if he felt safer knowing that there were weapons he could use if need be, or sick knowing that others were also planning to grab some ammo and escape.
In the end, he hoped that the wizards in charge were sensible enough to place enough magical wards around the armoury and concentrated on his training. Escape wasn't an option, not for him. The months he had spent with the General didn't go waste and he quickly outshone the others, earning him more enemies than friends.
At this point, Ron exhaled loudly and rubbed his tired eyes with the back of his hand. He didn't want to continue and glanced up at his mate hoping Harry would just ask him to stop. But all he received was another bottle of fiery amber liquid. He wanted to carry the horrors he had seen to his grave, but he accepted the whiskey, drank a significant amount of it and continued.
Although fear of Higgins and Oxley kept the masses in check most of the time, the backbreaking training and lack of any real action was beginning to take its toll. The men were becoming restless. Fights began to erupt, this time worse than before as they were now more apt at fighting, and dead bodies would crop up at frequent intervals. And there were other horrors- things Ron couldn't have even imagined, things he wished he had never witnessed, certainly not as a bystander. The frustration was enough to kill him.
Keep a low profile. Don't blow your cover.
The message from Kingsley was always the same during their rare communications. He'd end up questioning his decision night after night every single time. As an Auror, he had sworn to protect the weak and the helpless and yet, here he was, watching people being mutilated, killed and raped while doing nothing- 'cause he had to fucking 'keep his cover'.
But one evening everything changed...
Ron wouldn't have realised that he was still speaking at all if he hadn't seen Harry's ashen face. He tried his best to put his emotions aside- he had got those bastards, he told himself. But he knew it would not assuage his guilt. He hadn't been able to save her.
Knowing that, once again, he would spend days and nights drowning himself in guilt and whiskey, he told Harry what he had seen when he had entered that shack. He still remembered the face of each and every bastard who had been there, surrounding her. He remembered the sound of cheers that had erupted at his sight. But worse than that, he remembered those eyes that begged for mercy- the face that reminded him of-
Year-long restraint had finally snapped, and fury, like he had never known before, had engulfed him. It still amazed him how he had not turned into a ball of fire or displayed magic, but somehow he hadn't. He had needed nothing more than his body and unchecked rage to rip those filthy bastards away from her as she had slumped at the end of the filthy rag she had been made to lie on. He had thought he had got everyone off and was about to lift her limp body to safety when he had been attacked from the back- over and over, till he passed out.
He was sure he'd be dead, but he wasn't.
The intense pain that ripped his senses when he woke up in a seedy looking house was proof. He'd always be thankful to Dave for risking his life and taking him to the medicine man at the edge of the forest. How Dave had managed, he hadn't a clue, what mattered was that he was a friend, the only one Ron had in that hellhole.
The memories became fuzzy, strung together in bits from what Dave had told him later on. He had been beaten with a rod till he passed out, but that hadn't been enough for them. He had foiled their game and they had slashed his chest open in retribution. Ron was sure it was only the resilient Weasley blood in him that kept him alive.
The next time he remembered being conscious, Higgins was there- perhaps Oxley too. He wasn't quite sure. What he was certain of- was death. The question was whether to die fighting or to simply give up. But then he had remembered Hermione, and he knew wanted to live- if only to go see her once, tell her that he never stopped loving her, beg her not to hate him.
He didn't know what in his stars helped him that day, but his tryst with death paid off. Higgins seemed eager to welcome him back. And together with Dave they travelled through the forest to a location Ron had been hopelessly trying to locate for weeks. The stitches on his chest opened and bled, and more than once, he thought he wouldn't wake up again. But he always did.
Dave was sent away and he was fed with healing potions. It took him three full days to recover. By the end of the fourth day, all he was left with were the scars that Oxley told him would never fade. He never questioned how he was healed so quickly, only thanked them and inquired why they hadn't left him to die. Higgins grinned at him, in a sickly sort of way, showing off those blackened ugly teeth.
"Ye don let yer valuable weapons go waste, Tony."
Weapons, of course, that's what they were, and lucky for him, he was among the ones that were prized. As he walked out of the tent they told him to rest up and to stay closer to Peter and Davis for his own protection. He remembered having said nothing, other than another mumbled thanks for his life.
Back in the camp, he tracked down Dave first to check if the bloke was safe. And although he knew the answer already, he also inquired about the girl. In all honesty, he didn't expect her to survive and often wondered what he had become to wish that at least she died a quick death.
But those bastards were a different story. They hadn't expected him to return and some of them reacted as if he was a ghost. But he had got to them- each and every one of them.
"Did you kill them?"
He was almost taken by surprise at Harry's words, lost as he was in his monologue.
"No," he replied. "But they were as good as dead. In a place like that even a deep gash can easily get infected and leave you crippled," he replied cryptically. If Harry was expecting any remorse, Ron was sure he had none to spare. Was he almost the same as the Death Eaters now? Remorseless about the trail of dead bodies left in his past? He set that thought aside to be pondered during the long sleepless nights that were a part of his life now.
Ron barely had the strength to go on. He wanted to drink till he could think no more, and then simply crash, for days, if possible. He eyed the bottle in his hand, hating the amount of alcohol he could easily ingest nowadays.
He took a deep breath and began again; he knew Harry wouldn't leave him alone till he had heard the rest. But he left out a lot, like the hundreds of little fights that ensued after his show of violence or the multiple injuries he sustained. All that he had learnt during his training came handy, and he patched himself up while the others were not so lucky. He didn't mention that, after a while, he learnt to relish the fights, learnt how to pour out his frustration on these men, telling himself he was doing his job, chipping away pieces of the enemy's army, one man at a time. He didn't tell Harry about Dave's death, just drank more, skipping quickly to the portion towards the end. He did, however, mention how that this new violent streak made him famous with the wizards as well as the the trainers, and how he slowly but over the years, assumed the position of a leader of sorts in this muggle army they were building. When Ron realised that the effect of alcohol was slowly beginning to kick in, he hurried with his narration.
Berthold Casimir.
The man they had been hunting for years- the wizard who had stolen six solid years from his life.
Casimir reminded him slightly of Snape, silent and deadly. He moved with an aura that spoke of a wizard of power and a deadly passion for revenge- traits that would have appealed to Voldemort. He was called, one particularly hot, stuffy night to the same tent where he had been healed once. It was there that he received his brief: the day they were all preparing for had arrived- the day to avenge the Master.
Casimir never mentioned Voldemort, not even as the Dark Lord. But the plan said it all. Over the course of the next week, the men were to infiltrate England, they would travel in smaller groups to specified locations. Finally, on the 2nd of May, exactly at sunrise, they would trigger mass attacks in these small, non-descriptive towns. They were to break down doors, kill one and all, eradicate the population- none were to be spared, not even women or children. In return, they could collect any 'loot' they desired, money and gold, or even people if they so desired as long as they disposed of them later. Upon completion, they were to move quietly to the neighbouring towns, leaving their weapons behind, pretending to be survivors from the terror struck settlements. In another week's time, they would be ferried off to France.
It wasn't hard for Ron to finally connect the dots. They had planned it all perfectly. It had been years, and the wizarding world, he was sure, would have slowly forgotten the terrors of the past and blended in with the mundane regularity of life. Gone would be the intense protective spells and wards, or sense of constant vigilance. The locations listed were predominantly wizard settlements which meant that there would be few who would actually know or expect an attack by muggles- or know how to deal with bombs and guns. And most importantly, with such a widespread and synchronized attack, the Ministry wouldn't have enough men to deal with the catastrophe.
And these men they had been preparing all these years? These men were mere pawns. Ron was sure there would be no boats waiting to carry them to France. The wizards were expecting them to be killed, and honestly, even if some of them survived, there was no way the Aurors or the muggle cops would be able to track them back to the Death Eaters.
The entire force was called and divided into groups, and men were assigned to lead them. Ron was assigned to a group that would raid Hogsmeade. With the 2nd of May merely ten days away, and all preparations in place, booze and food flowed in the camp in celebration. He left the camp in the dead of the night, ran through the forest, his legs carrying him as far from the campsite as possible, far away from the tents where the wizards stayed. When he was sure he had put miles between them, he took out his wand, and send a high priority message to Kingsley. The response came within minutes.
Could he go back and mark the range of the camp?
Ron was sure it would trigger some sort of an alarm if any magic was performed there.
'Yes,' he messaged back.
"I owed Higgins for saving my life," he told Harry.
"So you spared him?"
"Sort of. I went back, called Higgins away, stunned him, and used his wand to cast the tracking spell. And I had to cast anti-Apparation wards around the wizards' tent," he told his best mate.
The Aurors Apparated in at dawn, the quiet surroundings burst with sounds of loud cracks echoing off the mountains. The muggles were locked in, most of them still sloshed from the heavy drinking games the previous night. The wizards though, they put up a fight. They didn't last very long, surrounded as they were by so many Aurors. But Ron still remembered the deep loathing and fury in Casimir's eyes as they duelled. He truly wanted to believe it was self-defense that made him cast that last spell, but if he was honest with himself, he could remember the intense hatred and fury that caused him to cast the Unforgivable. As an Auror, it was always a priority to take them alive, give them a fair chance for a trial. But Ron had seen enough to know, some men didn't deserve a second chance. They deserved nothing less than death for planning to eradicate a whole race. Higgins was the only one who was taken alive that day.
He returned home a month later- once a million formalities were cleared and he was deemed medically fit. He thought quietly about the many scars that were a part of his skin now, slowly blending in with his pale complexion and he thought of the one that marked his chest, the one he couldn't hide without magic.
He ran his fingers through his hair, resting his back against the chair, and Harry stared at him for a long time- those emerald green orbs boring into him. He attempted a smile but his tired muscles refused to cooperate.
"Why did you break up with Hermione?"
Ron wasn't expecting this question, not after the story he'd just told and not from Harry at least.
"Come on, mate!" he responded, his voice slurring slightly. "Even with the training and all that shite, it was fairly possible that I'd have blown my cover! And then? They'd have killed me for sure, wouldn't they? And you know Her… her…" he paused, finding it hard to continue, wishing for the briefest moments that he had died sometime after he completed the mission. It would surely have hurt less. "She'd've kept waiting, would've stopped living…" he added in a small voice. "It was for the best. She'd hurt less this way."
Harry snorted.
"I- I thought, I'd explain once I returned…"
"And you didn't think she'd move on?"
"I wouldn't have come back if she did, move on that is, I mean," he added with difficulty. "But it doesn't matter anymore, does it?" he chuckled bitterly. "She hates me and won't even listen. Doesn't want me anymore..."
With his eyes turning heavy, he placed his arms on the table and watched his best mate taking copious gulps of Firewhiskey. He had almost fallen into a blissful state of forgetfulness when Harry's words floated towards him.
"What did the girl look like, Ron? The one in the tent?"
He replied with sleep muffling his words. "She had curly brown hair and big, brown, almond shaped eyes."
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